


True Colours

by Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus



Category: Bartimaeus - Jonathan Stroud
Genre: Body Horror, Established Relationship, Fluff, I mean as fluffy as these two get, K is horrible to everyone except his husband whom he loves and respects, Lovecraftian Horror, M/M, oh boy here we go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-06-14
Packaged: 2019-05-23 11:44:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14933639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus/pseuds/Shadowy_Dumbo_Octopus
Summary: Then, something occurred to him; he moved away, "The shadow is not your true self."Ammet quirked his head to the side, something he did to express curiosity when he couldn't be bothered to manifest facial features. "It is not." He agreed, his gaze lingering on Khaba's lips as if he still waited for the kiss. "My true shape is not for mortal eyes to see."... or is it?(A pre-RoS excuse to write K swooning over his husband's eldritch form, just because I can and because Stroud was too much of a coward to write it himself.)





	True Colours

It was one of the rare rainy days in Jerusalem, the heavy drops falling over the city in a steady hum, not dissimilar to a swarm of locusts.

Well, Khaba mused, watching from his window, not necessarily; the purpose of the rain was to nourish and invigorate, whilst the only thing locusts brought to Solomon's fields was devastation.

Funny how life can be brought by something inanimate, yet the worst destruction is caused by the living.

"Life in the dead, but death in the living." He muttered to the falling rain. It was also true in the respect that the bodies of the dead, when buried, provided plant life with nutrients necessary for it to thrive, while it was the living who cut, burned, and trampled it with hardly a second thought.

Then again, the living cultivated it, spread the seeds by consuming fruit, bred certain plants and protected them from weeds and insects…

"You are philosophising again." A familiar voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Cold fingers brushed against the back of his neck.

Khaba smiled, standing up from his place by the open window. "Apologies, dearest, I was just-" he hummed, turning around to find a pair of lips pressing against his own.

Ah.

He kissed back, instantly forgetting what he was going to say next. Ammet's presence could be intoxicating at times, capable of making all other matters at hand seem so inconsequential – like a drug Khaba could rarely get enough of.

Ammet pulled away with a satisfied purr, a teasing grin appearing where his face usually was – the bastard knew very well what he was capable of. He licked his lips, as if savouring the remains of Khaba's taste on them.

"May I ask what your brilliant mind was pondering this time?" He eventually asked.

Khaba shrugged, deciding that it wasn't that important. "Nothing of consequence, really." He replied before closing the window. "How is our new puzzle doing?"

The puzzle in question was the ancient skeleton brought by Tzivoh all the way from beyond the Great Sea. Of course, the bones' age combined with the distance travelled and the djinni's carelessness left no room for doubt that several pieces were missing. They had to assemble the thing to check which ones.

"So far, one scapula and two ribs gone." Ammet said, gesturing at the table where the bones rested. "There also seems to be fewer vertebrae than there should be, so I would not be surprised if some of those were missing as well."

Khaba hummed in acknowledgement, approaching the table. Ammet was right, it seemed; he could tell at a glance that they were at least three vertebrae short. Damned djinni.

"This is why I dislike djinn." Ammet stepped forward to stand next to him, arms crossed behind his back and voice dripping with disdain. "Their work ethic is absolutely abominable."

One of Khaba's main roles as a magician in Solomon's court was, hmm, _correcting_ the behaviour of unruly spirits. Tzivoh was the most recent addition to his roster of four djinn and a low-level afrit, so he was yet to learn the consequences of underperforming.

"Agreed." Khaba quickly counted the vertebrae, finding out that not three, but six were missing. Now, while it wasn't unlikely that Tzivoh simply brought the bones in the same state he found them in, Khaba expected him to at least search the burial site for the pieces – people were seldom buried with bones missing from their bodies. "The body of an adult human contains two hundred and six bones – Tzivoh will receive a lash for every one missing."

Ammet nodded, shifting to examine the skull. "Agreed. The lower jaw is missing – do we count it as one bone, or should we add all the teeth it contained as well?"

Khaba paused, thinking. Did the number include teeth? Damn, he couldn't remember. "Count in the teeth as well, just in case." He muttered, scratching his scarred cheek. Great, now the question was going to plague him all day. "I like having a complete set."

"Mhm."

They set out to put the remaining bones together, working in comfortable silence. Khaba always liked that about Ammet; he could appreciate peace and quiet (although he could be quite talkative at times) when he wasn't humming along to their captives' screams. The noise of Solomon's court tired him; the wives' squabbling, the constant arguments between the Seventeen, the chatter of other spirits. No, for Ammet it was either the cries of his victims or nothing… or Khaba.

"I like the sound of your voice." Ammet had told him once, all the way back in Egypt. "It's somehow less annoying than others, or maybe it's because you actually have interesting things to say."

Khaba smiled at the memory.

As the skeleton slowly came together, they kept a list of which parts were missing so that Tzivoh could be sent back to the site to look for them. Plus, it made it easier to calculate how many lashes the fool deserved.

They finished about two hours later; thirty-three bones (teeth included) were missing, meaning just as many lashes for Tzivoh, as well as another trip to the gravesite in search of the pieces. Sometimes, Khaba mused as he arranged the ribs in the correct order, serving that vain, preening fool he called a king wasn't half bad.

With that done, and no tasks from Solomon to carry out or slaves to cut open, they settled on the couch, just listening to the rain.

"Ammet,"

"Yes, Master?"

"Did I ever tell you that, out of all the living beings on this world, I loathe you the least?"

Ammet chuckled. "Is that so?"

"Mhm."

"Is it because of my charm?"

Khaba looked at him with feigned incredulity, "Your _what now?_ " He asked, a smile tugging at his lips.

"My charm;" Ammet gestured at himself, "you cannot resist it."

Damn right he couldn't. "Well, I certainly am not in for your looks."

"Yes, you are." Ammet shifted to sit cross-legged, facing him with what was definitely a challenging smile. "I'm gorgeous."

"You're wearing my silhouette." Khaba pointed out.

"And I wear it better than you ever could."

Khaba actually laughed out loud at that, something he did rarely and usually only in Ammet's company. "You're impossible." It felt good to have someone to unwind with – after hours of forced politeness in the company of the imbeciles he called colleagues, it was refreshing to talk to an intellectual equal… even if some of their conversations were as nonsensical as this one.

"Impossibly gorgeous." Ammet stretched luxuriously like a contented cat. He then winked, "Still not as gorgeous as you, though."

Khaba rolled his eyes. "Flatterer." He said, leaning forward to steal a kiss off Ammet's smiling lips. Then, something occurred to him; he moved away, "The shadow is not your true self."

Ammet quirked his head to the side, something he did to express curiosity when he couldn't be bothered to manifest facial features. "It is not." He agreed, his gaze lingering on Khaba's lips as if he still waited for the kiss. "My true shape is not for mortal eyes to see."

That, Khaba did not doubt; the form a spirit took on the seventh plane was generally unpleasant to look at, only growing stranger as one ascended the rank: imps were simply ugly, whereas glimpsing the form of a higher being such as an afrit or, indeed, a marid could drive one to madness. There was a magician in Kush once who ordered his afrit slave to shed any masks it had upon it, just to prove that he was unafraid of a spirit's true form. Naturally, the poor fool went mad straight away, only barely managing to dismiss the afrit before his words became nonsensical babble. Elbesh and Shirin sometimes teased Hiram by suggesting a kinship between him and the madman. While Khaba found such behaviour immature, he had to admit that, given how utterly idiotic the vizier could be, he wouldn't be very surprised if he and the unfortunate fool shared blood ties.

Despite the Kushite's cautionary tale, however, Khaba had to admit that he was rather curious what all the fuss seemed to be about.

"Show me." He said, making Ammet do not a double, but a triple take as he stared at him (with actual eyes this time, bone white and lacking pupils or irises) in genuine and utter shock.

"Master," he began almost pleadingly, "while I would not even dream of disobeying you, the ‘unfit for mortal eyes' quality does include you. I do not wish you to suffer like countless others did because they failed to tame their curiosity."

Khaba sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose; he cared about Ammet too much to actually force him to do anything – they left that behind along with protective pentacles and binding clauses. Still, despite being genuinely touched by the concern, Khaba was a seasoned and powerful magician, while the Kushite was probably a weakling who tried to compensate by summoning spirits he could barely control. No wonder the fool lost his mind.

Ammet, meanwhile, must have sensed his thoughts, because he shook his head decisively. "I do not doubt your power," he said, "but I do not doubt mine either. I do not know whether your mind would withstand the sight, and I would rather not take any unnecessary risks."

"You make very sound arguments." Khaba nodded; it was usually wise to take Ammet's warnings into consideration. As a millennia-year old marid, he always provided valuable and intelligent insights and suggestions no matter what they were discussing, and his wisdom accumulated throughout the years has saved Khaba's life quite a few times. There was a time when he simply ignored anything he said out of fear of lies or betrayal, but that was before they grew close and Ammet went from a slave to lover, partner, and Khaba's equal in all aspects.

If Ammet said that he should drop the subject, he probably should.

Nonetheless…

"Would you ever harm me without my explicit knowledge and consent?"

Ammet shook his head once again. "I would never." He said, seeming genuinely horrified by the thought. "You know that, don't you?"

"I do," Khaba replied, satisfied with how the conversation was progressing, "which is why I believe that I have nothing to fear from any aspect of you, no matter how terrifying it appears to be." He reached for Ammet's hand, clenched into a fist as it rested on his lap. He unfolded it before bringing it to his lips. "If you really do not wish to reveal yourself to me, I will understand, and will not think any less of you for it. However, I wish to show you that there is no part of you which I could ever find repulsive. How could I? Out of all beings on earth, you are the one I value the most. You can trust me."

Ammet's breath hitched in his throat at the declaration.

"I-" He began, then paused. "Are you absolutely sure?"

"I am."

He made a motion as if he was about to nod, then suddenly whipped his head towards the door. His whole posture changed, spine and shoulders tensing up as if he was a beast about to fall on its unsuspecting prey and tear it to shreds. His fingers slipped out of Khaba's hold and instantly transformed into claws, long and sharp like knives. A low, deep growl sounded from his throat.

Khaba reached for his flail, instantly alert. If it was a slave or messenger from Solomon or the others from the Seventeen, Ammet would instantly vanish and it would look just as if Khaba was enjoying some time alone in his tower. However, if there was in fact danger afoot, he liked to be prepared despite knowing that Ammet would do everything in his considerable might to protect him. After all, why should he have all the fun for himself?

A knock sounded from the direction of the main entrance. Three raps, short and evenly spaced. A slave, then, supposedly.

"In." Khaba called out as Ammet slipped back into his shadow, unseen.

After a few moments a short, scrawny youth entered the chamber, holding two scrolls and a tablet in his hands.

"From the Vizier, my lord." He said, passing him the items. "He asked to see those delivered to you as soon as possible."

Khaba nodded, looking over the writing. Ah, another assignment, this time in Tyre; some backwater city needed their walls fixed and their own magicians were too incompetent to summon anything stronger than a foliot.

He sighed. "Very well." He set the assignment on the table for later inspection. "Inform Hiram that I will speak with him about this tomorrow morning."

The youth nodded and left the room in haste.

Shortly after they heard the door close, Ammet resumed his previous place on the couch, eyes narrowed in displeasure.

"Such simple tasks are beneath you." He growled, probably having skimmed through the tablet over Khaba's shoulder. "Fixing walls of simple folk unworthy of your presence instead of taking your rightful place upon the throne as rivers of blood drawn from your enemies course through your kingdom."

" _Our_ kingdom." Khaba corrected, having long ago decided that he couldn't imagine himself without Ammet by his side, so why exclude him from his (their) future empire? Who if not him was more worthy?

"I do agree, though, that it could prove to be a mild inconvenience." He looked over the plans, scrawled on the parchment with a slightly shaking hand. "Hmm, at least the breach is relatively small, so it should not take our djinn long to fix. I wonder why they even need Solomon's help with this."

Ammet hmm'ed, crossing his arms. "I still think that Solomon could do it more quickly with his ring."

"Tell him that yourself, then, and see what he thinks."

A short huff was the only answer Khaba needed. He lifted his gaze from one of the sketches. "Now, what were you saying before we were so rudely interrupted?"

"That I agree."

Ah, there it was. Khaba put the parchment back on the table and adjusted his position on the couch. "Are you sure?" He asked, just in case. He understood that shedding all masks and guises was a greatly intimate gesture on Ammet's part, and respected the marid too much to pressure him into doing it.

Ammet nodded before glancing at the door. "But not here," he said, "in case we are interrupted once again."

Ah, that left either the workshop or Khaba's private chambers, the latter of which was closer and spacious enough, so they swiftly moved there.

After locking the door, Khaba took a seat on his desk chair and regarded Ammet with curiosity.

The marid cracked his knuckles, whispered a quick "ready?" and, after receiving a nod, allowed the shadow guise to fall.

Khaba wasn't sure what exactly he expected, but the result was anything but that.

The whole room went dark, all candles winking out instantly although not even a breeze moved them. The temperature dropped quickly as water began to condensate on the window panes. Shortly, it turned into ice.

The silence was pierced by a choir of voices, hundreds if not thousands of people whispering, laughing and weeping in the distance, their voices high pitched and sinister.

In the place where Ammet stood there was a towering mass of black smoke, reaching all the way up to the ceiling, ever-shifting and transforming like a desert mirage, blurred and unreal.

Then suddenly, it snapped into perfect focus. All candles in the room suddenly lit up with eerie, blue-green flames not dissimilar to the witch lights Khaba used in his workshop, illuminating the tall shape which stood before him.

It was bipedal, hunched slightly to fit itself into the suddenly too-small space it was confined to, its long, graceful horns scraping against the ceiling with each movement. Or maybe they were fins? The candlelight seemed to have trouble illuminating the creature, reflecting off its scales in one place and absorbed into its darkness in another. It shifted slightly, and what Khaba originally took for particularly peculiar tricks of light turned out to actually be eyes, reminiscent of those belonging to deep sea fish sometimes found on shores or in nets by horrified fishermen. They opened and closed independently, yet Khaba knew without any doubt that all were staring right back at him. There were mouths too, too numerous to count, gaping and grinning in different places on the being's body, closing only to reappear somewhere else and display rows after rows of sharp, needle-like teeth, glittering in candlelight like daggers. The creature's tails moved hypnotically behind it. No, not tails… tentacles. Long and wide and almost translucent, moving lazily through the air as if the room was filled with water. Its actual tail, crowned with something which could possibly resemble a fin of some sort, was curled around its feet.

As Khaba's gaze moved up, he saw that it had four pairs of arms. Three. Five. Fifteen. Five again. Two. One. None. Infinite. One arm, long and adorned with claws longer than the magician's forearm, reached to caress his cheek. Its touch was icy cold and burning at once, like the personification of the void itself. He briefly wondered if its touch would leave a mark.

He wondered if he would mind.

His eyes travelled further up, following a tall, graceful neck, past the long crest which seemed to resemble a lion's mane sometimes, to rest on the being's face.

Khaba's heart froze in his chest, overcome with a myriad of different emotions.

Not a single one of them was fear.

The being's head could possibly be compared to that of a serpent or a crocodile, four of its visible eyes (white and glowing slightly) locked down on the mortal in front of it. Its mouth -filled with so many teeth; more than it should physically be able to hold- opened, and a thousand voices spoke up, a familiar one rising above them.

"̮̺̜̭͇̺͓͗͂͒͒ͪ̽T̩̼̦̏͛̓H̙̠̀ͭͬͣͮIͣS̰̣͓ͪͭ ͍̜ͫ̍̆ͭ͌̒̉Ï͙̩̳̠̺͓̮̏S̅ͪͫͣͦ̓͋ ̬̻̯̤̻ͩͨ̍ͥ̒̚W͎̭͇̝̮͉̏̓̇ͬH̝̭͒̑͐̅̉ͬ̓O͈̞͖͊ͩͨ͐̈ ͙I͉͓̥͑ ̳̱̞̜͔ͤ̔̈́́͆̆̎A̖Mͪ́͒.͎͙͍̦̖"̳ͨ̽̏͂

There were many things Khaba wanted to say. He wanted to scream, to laugh, to beg (he was unsure what about, though), to weep, to…

The only word which passed through his throat was "Beautiful."

Time stopped.

The candle flames stopped moving, the water on the window panes stopped its rapid process of freezing, melting, evaporation, and condensation.

Everything was quiet.

The being tilted its head curiously, in an overwhelmingly familiar manner.

"̮͇̜̦͛ͣ̆͗Ẉ̬̙̩͚͚ͥH͎̗̳̰̫͚ͥͦ̉̅ͅǍ͓͈̱̦̫̗̥͆̄T̹̙͎̠̉ͣ̄̃̏̉̚ͅ ͥ̒̃̄̽D͉̯̹̝̥̥̑̎̑I͉̩̺̯̬͚͛̀ͫ́̓D ͨ̾Ỹ̠̗̖͓̟Ȱ̠̥̯͖͖̬̳U̗̺̖̰̇̄̐̏̆ ̩̗̪̗̱̩̖S̙̗̞̾̃Â͍̮͎̗̇̌̾̅ͣY̾͋̈́?̖̘̟͇̻"̹̳͖͖͔͎ͯ͐͆̈́̎͗̊ It asked, its voice (voices) filled with genuine disbelief.

"Ammet," Khaba uttered, eyes wide and something rising in his chest and throat, "you… you are beautiful."

And gods almighty, he meant it. Was that truly how his Ammet looked like underneath his guise? Has this wonderful, flawless being been right there, under the surface, the whole time?

He laughed a strange, delighted giggle which sounded alien to his ears.

"̏̀̊ͦM̘̲̟̺̃̑̾́À̰̩͕̞S͕̳̒̂͗ͩ̅̅T͉̼̙̖ͣͣ̍͊̅͛̎E͎̖̎̽͑̆R͚̺̱̼͂͌,̜̫͖̼̌͑"̙͖̟͈̊ The being, Ammet, bowed so that its, his, head could be on eye-level with him. The voices were brimming with concern,"̞̪͖̪̺̏͋̇ͨͯ͒Â̿̋ͅR̫̖͊͋E̺̩̟͔̩̯ͬ̆ͥ͑̓͗ͅ ̦̩̌Y͇̬͍̦̽ͬ̏ͬ̎ͬO̟̣̼ͣͮ̇̄̇͒͒Ū̯̻̻̯ͬͪ͂̆ͪ ̈́̔͑̈ͬͪẈ̀ͧ̏ͫͥE̒̎͑̽̑L̟͖͚͚̮͍ͮ͑̾ͣ̎L̞̠͖͈̩̥̽͗̽?̰̲̋͌̈̇̂"̜̈

Was this what madness felt like? This intoxicating euphoria which came with the realisation that he truly was the luckiest man in history to have tied himself to such a perfect creature?

Khaba didn't know. He didn't care.

"I love you." He sighed dreamily. Blood dripped from his nose. His head was spinning, heart fluttering like a raven beating its wings against the inside of his ribcage.  
_I love you, I love you, I love you, I love, love love love love love love love love love love love…_

His legs gave out suddenly, and he found himself falling into deep, fathomless darkness.

Then he stopped.

Then he felt something wrap itself around him gently, hold him up, brush against his neck.

"̥̦̲̉ͣ͐ͪ͆Y͖͖̤͚̼Ó̠̲͙͎͗͒U̮̮͚̔͋̚R̠̝͔̯̹̹̙ͤ͆ ͕̟̦̤̈́ͯͭ͗Ē̤̼̼̙͉ͤY͚̩͍̮̩Ẹ͚̦̝̀Ṣ̭ͣ̾̾ ̱̇͒ͧͨ̃͛́S̱̩͑̀͊ͣ͐̒̎H̤̭͙̎ͫ̔ͭ̚Ő̬W̥̪͓̯̖͉̝̓ͥ̽ͭ̌ͨͭ ͍̙ͦͪN͚̰̄̅͋̀͆O̺̻̯̜̓ͅ ̘͎͚̘̦͓̩ͯ̇́ͮS̬̗̘̫̺̤͈̿͆̂͊̏̚Ḯ̯̗̍̂ͧ̊͗̚G̤̹͎̥̓͐ͩ̏N̪͍̻͇̂̓̎͊̅͑̌S̼̹͌ͥ͋͌̂̐ͅ ̼͉̞̜̳̾ͅOF͙̤̪͑́̊̂̽ ̺͇̗̎̊̃́̔M̤̮ͫ̇ͣ̍̈̇͆A̯̭̬̳̼͓͆ͪ̊̽ͧ́̉D̈̀N͇̲̝̬͈͓̓̔͋ͭ̔̐Ẹ̰̥̰̋̅S͎̻ͬ̆S̩̪.̻̗̪̺̘̪͎͋̊͊̈́͛͆"̠͓̘̙͕̲̩̎̈́ A choir of voices shouted, giggled, whispered all around him. This time, however, it seemed curious and somewhat relieved. There was no edge of worry among it. "̜͔͖̲̲̦̤̃̐̄ͮS̳͙̬̗̑͛ͨT̯̘̘͚̗̱̩͐R̹̲̟̜̼̂͒͒A̰̱̼͖ͦ̅̌ͤͫ̾̋N͕̼͆G̜̪̩̜̲̖̞̉̃̋E͉̮̮̖̫̟͊.͕̲͔̰͎̦"͐

The darkness was lit up by a myriad of lights, glittering like the night sky.

"͉̖̦͉̫͇Y̘ͤ̿ͪ̈O̖͚̦̱͉͊̇͋ͫͅͅU̬͇̩̲̻͌ͭ́ͪ͆ ̰̲͖̜̉̋̿N͇̘͖͌̓̏̑̾Ě̬̳̲̙̮͖͖͛̿̽́͋͗E͉͍͚̲̙͔̼̔̓͐͒ͩͫͤD͗ͦ̈ ͓̣̩͔͙̌̌̏ͫͦ͂T͖̫̲͇͍̪ͫ̾̉ͬ͗O̤͚͖͙ͨ̾ ͙͉̝̬͔̒ͯ̈ͭ͗͛̓ͅS̯ͩͥͅḮ̫̬̤̤ͮͣ̋̍T̫̩̤̼̠ ̳̯̌ͤ́̅̓̽ͣD̫̩̫̻̣͉O̭͕͇̻̅̍W̪̘ͯ́͆͌N̥̿.̪͙͓̼̞̝̂͂ͥ"̤̼̅͛ͬ The voices said, seeming slightly amused by something.

Strange, Khaba didn't even remember standing up.

Then the darkness dispersed like ripples on water, and he was back in his private chambers, standing on trembling legs with Ammet supporting him, back in his shadow guise. The candles were burning again, their flames the correct colour this time. The windows were intact as well, and the ceiling bore no scratches.

"̬̭̜̩̣̳̬͑ͧͫ̌ͣ͌̐Iͦ̾̎ ̱̘̱̲ͣͫͫA͎̩͔̒ͨ̆̽̚P̠̹̠̹͂̈́̒̍̂̋̿O̤͈͉̿̄ͣ̈ͮͭL̝͇̹̙͖̩̓̋̾͊O̙̝͇̙̮̩ͭ̓̐̌ͅg̱ͬ̀͆̚ise," Ammet was saying quickly, "I know that the sight must have been a shock. Please, do take a moment to steady yourself, and try not to stand just yet. Both your body and your mind are recovering and-"

Ah, there he was, chattering away like he often did when Khaba was too slow to kiss him into silence.

He should kiss him now, actually, just to check if he still had all those wonderful teeth hidden in there.

So he leaned forward and did just that, effectively cutting short Ammet's long and increasingly frantic string of apologies.

"You are perfect." He muttered against the marid's lips. "Stop apologising for it."

Ammet kissed back, gratefully, one hand moving up to cup Khaba's cheek.

"Thank you." He whispered, voice hoarse and slightly trembling. "Thank you, Master, for accepting me."

Khaba wondered if there was another option. Was he supposed to… _not_ accept Ammet the way he was, unbound and otherworldly? Was he supposed to look at the most beautiful being to ever come into existence and just discard it? Now _that_ would truly be madness.

They pulled away after a few moments, Khaba grasping a breath of air as if he had just surfaced from the depths of the ocean. The air was too warm in his lungs, though, too heavy; he longed for the bitingly cold breath of the void. It was like a drug.

He wondered if he ever compared Ammet to a drug before.

Too many thoughts, scurrying away like rats whenever he tried to examine one further. Only memories remained, scraps of sensations such as cold fingers against his skin; thousands of eyes blinking down at him like stars, ancient and all-knowing; voices like a discordant swarm ringing in his ears. Emotions swirling around him like scraps of fabric in a myriad of colours. Shock. Fascination. Joy. Love. Curiosity. Arousal. Excitement. Short and snappy, weaving and tearing to create a chaotic tapestry of his heart. Too much and yet not enough.

Khaba focused on that; not enough.

Not enough.

More.

His mind and vision cleared instantly, the next course of action simple and evident.

_More._

"Bed," he all but growled, _"now."_

**Author's Note:**

> Small nerd-out about Ammet's 7th plane form because I have no life.  
> It was partially based on Ammit, the Ancient Egyptian deity who supposedly ate the souls of the damned, and from whose name Ammet was derived from. Hence the mane/crest and the crocodile-resembling head.  
> My other influence were leviathans and other deep sea creatures, because marids are connected to the element of water so not making Ammet some creepy deep-sea eldritch horror would be a waste of a perfectly good character. Also because I'm a slut for eldritch horror.  
> The whole ever-shifting incomprehensible thing was borrowed from HP Lovecraft, because hell yeah.  
> And he's pitch black because I always headcanoned that he's just a shady fucker to the core, and picked the guise of Khaba's shadow because he's just Like That.


End file.
